<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>hands off, hands on by IuvenesCor</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838891">hands off, hands on</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IuvenesCor/pseuds/IuvenesCor'>IuvenesCor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Outer Worlds (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Captain can be read as male or female), Asexual Captain, Canon Asexual Character, Flirting Gone Wrong, Gen, POV Second Person, Sexual Harrassment, awkward times on the Groundbreaker, platonic space friends in a pinch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:43:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IuvenesCor/pseuds/IuvenesCor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two spacers are looking for a good time in the wrong places. So when your favorite engineer is in a pinch, what’s a Captain to do?</p>
<p>Definitely not cave a spacer’s face in. No. That would be extreme. </p>
<p>...Probably.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Captain &amp; Parvati Holcomb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hands off, hands on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’re not one for violence. Well… relatively. It depends on the situation. If it shoots at, claws, or otherwise maims you first, you are damn well going to shoot, claw, or otherwise maim it last. Something about being thrust from the anticipation of a space flight to a convoluted future that you never asked for has taken your anger and severed it from its management, apparently.</p>
<p>But you don’t like causing unnecessary harm. If you’re going to be responsible for putting a scratch on anyone— whether they deserve it or not— you’re going to make sure you’ve tried every other option first. Best not to make enemies of people you can’t know a damn about until they’re comfortable enough with telling you the truth.</p>
<p>And yet.</p>
<p>
  <em>And yet.</em>
</p>
<p>For as many bristly sorts that you’ve met in your travels— for all the unsavory bastards you’ve had to skirt around in the space of this unexpected life’s quest— the seemingly “unimportant” people along the way haven’t given you or your companions much trouble. Most ignore. Many scowl. A few even bother to look on your scars and armor with respect. </p>
<p>These here, however, are an anomaly. Their nondescript uniforms— uniforms, not plated or patchwork armor, and that’s telling— peg them as some sort of shipping spacers. One, blandly average in every dimension, sways on his heels, a thick smile smeared over his lips. The other, broad-shouldered and long-legged, rests against the Promenade’s border railing right outside the Medical Bay. You notice them as you leave your conversation with Doc Mfuru only because Parvati is between them both.</p>
<p>“Gosh, that’s, uh— that’s mighty fascinating.” You’ve seen Parvati sweat herself a river in a variety of instances, but you also have gotten to know a lot of her ins and outs in a short time. This isn’t just social anxiety. This discomfort runs deeper. And yet, poor soul, she’s still doing her best to be kind to the man sticking his smug mug in her business. “Y’know, I’m real busy right now, but if we ever run into each other again, I’m sure I’d love to hear more.”</p>
<p>She shifts back, bumping into the spacer behind her, stuttering apologies and ending up back at square one. You frown.</p>
<p>The male spacer laughs. It could be pleasant for the right sort of person— or at the right sort of person. But you’ve seen this scenario many times, and usually whilst in the pilot’s seat. His eyes are sharp. Parvati’s patience is thin. The plot explains itself.</p>
<p>“Or you could join me and my partner here at The Lost Hope, eh?” He shrugs. “You look like you’ve had a trip; so have we. You can hop on our tab.”</p>
<p>“Oh, um… That’s kind of you. I don’t, um, I don’t really drink, and I got a friend to look for—”</p>
<p>“<em>Everybody</em> drinks, sweetheart,” says the lady spacer, waving her cigarette. </p>
<p>“We’re great friend material,” presses her partner. “And did I mention we’re paying? Come on, little Miss Parvati.” You tense as he raises a hand to her elbow, cupping it. “It’s been a long, hard ride. We’re just asking for some company.”</p>
<p>Parvati pulls up immediately, wrapping her hand over her opposite shoulder. Her head rears up and her eyes scan the Promenade, looking for a way of escape, looking for— you. She locks stares with you as you approach, and her eyes flare with emotional starlight: a little bit of fear, a little bit of embarrassment, a little bit of hope. “Captain,” she whispers hurriedly.</p>
<p>The lady spacer says something about space and loneliness— a reasonable assertion, but no excuse for this sham of an interaction— and straightens her posture, towering behind Parvati; meanwhile, the male spacer’s rejected touch veers onto a different course and lands on your engineer’s armored waist.</p>
<p>You double-time it right over there.</p>
<p>It’s a bit like a dance, a natural progression of the choreography of war. Parvati slides away, and you slide in, placing yourself between her and the spacers. You puff out your chest and cross your arms as the two strangers look on in a slightly more sobered appraisal of the situation. </p>
<p>“Oh, you must be the lost friend,” the boringly average spacer notes, smiling that smile greasier than Boarst Wurst. “The more the merrier.”</p>
<p>You don’t bite. “These people bothering you, Parvati?”</p>
<p>“Ah, well, I was just— just letting them know that we had work to do and all, and that I’d be on my way,” she hedges, polite until the end. Honestly, some days you wish you had that same instinctive desire to <em>not</em> offend people. But with the looks from these two goons, this is not one of those wishful days.</p>
<p>“Just sayin’ hello,” the lady spacer replies uninvited to your question, eyes roving over your frame like a sniper’s scope. “And hello again.”</p>
<p>You keep your face neutral. It’s not hard, especially with the crash course in negotiation that you’ve been studying lately. But you really don’t like the way this chick talks with her hips, and you don’t like the way her partner talks <em>period.</em></p>
<p>“Well, you had your hellos,” you say. “So here’s two goodbyes to go with them.” Over your shoulder you mutter, “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>The male spacer backpedals as you and Parvati try to move along. He loops around, a little more nimble than you in his armor-free state, reaching again for your friend. “Hang on, ladies, just a minute.” Fortunately for his hand, just as images of taking a trip blade to his wrist start dancing through your brain, he keeps his position, only reaching but not yet touching. Still, he doesn’t pay you mind, rather continuing to make eyes at Parvati.  “You staying at Groundbreaker for a bit? How about your contact info? If the bar’s not your style, we got a little corner room at the Rest-N-Go for a really fun little get-together—”</p>
<p>Heat and the faintest wave of stress-induced nausea have been building up in your chest through the whole pitch, making you clench your jaw and breathe deeply to distract from the frustration. </p>
<p>“This conversation’s not my style,” you say. “Now get going.”</p>
<p>He looks over at you and huffs, unimpressed. “I guess you’re the tough one, huh? Alyn’s more likely to win you over.” Again to Parvati, he croons, “C’mon. When’s the last time you got to let loose for a night, huh?” </p>
<p>You really don’t understand why these people are so stupid. Sure, space travel does some weird things to human heads. Trips can be long, and dealing with your own thoughts and limitations can feel even longer. You knew folks like this back home. You knew people who couldn’t stand monotony, couldn’t live more than a few days under routine. You knew people whose thoughts came primarily from their genitals, too. But you and Parvati— it’s not like you’re <em>not</em> desirable. Hell, you are aesthetic delights, if you do say so yourself. You are also, however, covered in battle-nicked metal and strapped with at least two lethal weapons apiece. You’re also saying <em>no.</em> What in the stars is so hard to understand about that?</p>
<p>(Seventy years in sleep, and sexual harassment is still alive and well. Should have figured.)</p>
<p>You give Parvati a look, but your friend is too distracted stammering out half-sentences, too trapped in a past of being ridiculed for a certain <em>lacking</em> to respond properly. Parvati is too good a kid— she cares too much. </p>
<p>Lucky for you, your nonexistent sexuality was never something you set your self worth on. It was just the way the engine works. Yet there are things you want to be respected for, and your body is one of them— no matter how you feel (or don’t), this kind of behavior is straight up primal.</p>
<p>And there’s one thing you know: primals can’t be talked down.</p>
<p>And so…</p>
<p>
  <em>And so…</em>
</p>
<p>It feels a bit weird. You’re so used to having your rifle or your hammer or whatever all else you’re using to cause carnage in the system, weighing down your hand and taking the brunt of every explosive kickback or heavy-hitting smack. Throwing a punch feels so powerless. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Creeps of this variety don’t deserve their heads to pop clean off. They just need a… cranial recalibration. </p>
<p>Your knuckles sting, even underneath the padded glove shielding them. It’s worth it, though, seeing the man stagger back, his hands immediately coming up to barricade his face and the voice of his partner barking out in surprise. </p>
<p>It feels like the moment to say something cinematic, at least in your mind. But in every other inch of you, this feels <em>awkward,</em> and maybe just a little bit too steeped in adrenaline. You want to take him by the shoulders and knee him in the gut before bending him over your own knee and bringing an elbow down on his spine, but you <em>know</em> that’s really just the fighter’s instinct trying to put you on autopilot again. Years of politely (or bluntly) turning down advances from people too dumb to be serious have finally culminated in this one opportunity to throw a punch, just as you’ve always wanted, and that should be enough. </p>
<p>Both the spacers cuss at you, though the male seems less a threat and more a disbeliever as he tries to hold back the blood leaking out his nose; the female, conversely, grabs your shoulder from behind and spins you around.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t do that,” Parvati warns, her voice suddenly strong and stern, ready for battle. You see her hand hovering over her pistol as you’re spun toward the lady spacer, whose eyes have lost all interest and now watch you with pure piss and vinegar.</p>
<p>You want to deck her, you really do; if not for the flirting, you’d love to strike her just to see someone bigger than you go down. But your brain reminds you that, oh right, you’re not an aggressive one by default. That, and the suddenly alerted presence of a watching Mardet, keeps your vitriol at bay. Slightly.</p>
<p>“I’d listen to her,” you say, nodding over at Parvati, otherwise motionless beneath the woman’s grip. Her opposite fist is drawn back like a pistol’s hammer, ready to blast at a moment’s notice, but she seems to give you your one shot at persuasion. “You’re looking at the crew who saved the Groundbreaker from boiling itself to death. If anybody’s getting backed up when charges are pressed, it’s us.” <em>Nevermind Par and Chief Junlei,</em> you think, but that’s a bit more personal than this space scrap needs to know.</p>
<p>“Law, fine!” you hear from behind. The male spacer whines his way past you, tagging his counterpart with a hand covered in nasal blood. “Leave us alone! Go live your miserable lives by yourselves. C’mon, Alyn, I need a Spectrum Vodka, stat.”</p>
<p>The woman narrows her gaze at you, studying your face again before she unclenches one hand and pulls back the other. “Crazy son of a bitch,” she mutters and turns away, following the other spacer’s path to The Lost Hope.</p>
<p>You don’t take your eyes off of them until they disappear into the establishment. By the time that happens and you look elsewhere, you find that Parvati has been staring at you with this crazy look of surprise and amusement.</p>
<p>“Are you all right?” you ask.</p>
<p>“Me? Oh, I’m in tip-top shape! Thanks. I would have been fine, but…” She smiles gently. “I appreciate the help all the same.”</p>
<p>“That didn’t look fine,” you note, starting your walk back toward the docking bay. </p>
<p>“Honestly? I’ve been through worse. At least they hadn’t gotten drunk yet.” Patting a pocket in her gear, she adds, “If it got real bad, I would’ve done the old standard: hit ‘em with a wrench. But that’s only in an emergency.”</p>
<p>There’s a subtle hint of something to her tone that makes your thoughts pause even as your body carries on. “In other words, you didn’t want them hurt.”</p>
<p>She frowns. “Well— no, not really. I mean, that’s not to say I didn’t admire that haymaker you threw at the man. It was a thing of beauty, Captain.” A quiet chuckle breaks through her pensive bearing. “I just— well. Can I be honest with you?”</p>
<p>“Always.”</p>
<p>“I think you threw that punch for you more than me.”</p>
<p>Now <em>that</em> makes your whole self pause. “What makes you think that?”</p>
<p>“I mean… I know you’re protective and all, and that’s what I like about you, as a captain and a friend. Among other things, o’ course. But I’ve seen you talk down some pretty big people, and give the most wonderful advice to others, and here these two spacers got you flustered as a fly.”</p>
<p>You’d like to say she’s over-exaggerating, but… well, there’s no point in that. You don’t like lying to friends, and you’ve never seen any benefit in lying to yourself. In the end, you’ve never reacted well to being <em>forced</em> into things, being coerced without much in the way of alternatives to choose from. You don’t like giving <em>no</em> for an answer more than twice. And when one combines that coercion with the absolutely useless act of flirting— putting you on the spot, off guard, unprepared— you can’t think of a worse way for someone to spend their day. </p>
<p>Again, you’ve gone through this before. But this time, you had someone else’s interests in mind. This wasn’t about preserving dignity and moving on, this was about teaching some assholes a lesson about leaving nice girls the hell alone. This was an excuse to let ‘er rip.</p>
<p>“Do you disapprove of my reaction?” you ask. </p>
<p>Parvati’s eyes widen. “No, not at all! I mean, it’s just not how I would do it, unless they truly tried to force me. But I sort of… take comfort, I guess? What with us being alike and all, and knowing what that all would have led to in the end, it makes me feel nice that there’s someone out there who feels even weirder during those sorts of situations than I do. I can give a punch when I have to, but I can tell— you <em>wanted</em> to knock his block off.”</p>
<p>“He deserved it,” you explain, picking up the pace again, savoring the lingering pain in your hand for as long as it lasts. (There should probably be a trip to a therapist somewhere in your future to address that. Maybe a chat with the Vicar?) “They both would have. They were giving my friend a hard time, and that’s reason enough.”</p>
<p>Parvati blushes, giggling. “Aw, well thanks, Captain. A-and I hope you know that I’d do the same for you, if it happened again.”</p>
<p>You smile. “Of course I do. Birds of a feather fight together. Speaking of: back to the ship?”</p>
<p>Your engineer’s earnest nod helps moor the last surges of your adrenaline down to earth. “Lead on, Captain.”</p>
<p>Solidarity travels well in the contented silence ahead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mmmmmmkay, so notes now, mostly because I didn’t want to color anyone’s POV of the Captain to leave it as reader-friendly as possible. </p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, as I’m sure everyone was, I’ve been fond of Parvati from the get-go. I haven’t been playing The Outer Worlds long (just opened up Stellar Bay after doing most of the immediately available Groundbreaker-related quests, for reference), but every little interaction with this darling cinnamon roll makes me so happy. And then she started talking about her asexuality and, well, I maybe love her just that little bit more.</p>
<p>Considering my playthrough’s Captain is also a curly- and dark-haired, tan-skinned woman with an engineering background— who, more for my own sake and less for roleplaying, is asexual— it makes for fun headcanons about the Captain and Parvati being just THE BEST(tm) platonic soulmates/sisters from another mister who go around fixing everything and not knowing how to deal with romancing.</p>
<p>Anyway! I’ve been playing the game a lot in the past few days, while also starting a favorite-tropes writing challenge for the month of December. I was only supposed to meet a word count goal of 250 words. I wrote 2500 for “Asexuality.” Whooooops. (: </p>
<p>Thanks for reading! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>